Digging Through to Manila 



BY 

LaSALLE CORBELL PICKETT 

[Mrs. General George E. Pickett] 

Author of " Pickett and His Men," etc., etc. 



Illustrated by 
M. MUEDEN 



WASHINGTON 

Press of Byron S. Adams 

1905 



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Copyrighted 1904 

by 

Major George E. Pickett, U. S. A. 



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LOVINGLY DEDICATED 

TO 

MY OWN LITTLE BOYS, WHOSE TINY HANDS WERE 
GUIDED BY LOVE IN THEIR EFFORT TO MAKE A 
PATHWAY WHEREON THEIR FEET MIGHT FOLLOW 
THEIR HEARTS TO THE FAR-AWAY ISLANDS OF THE 
SEA, AND TO ALL THE OTHER LITTLE ARMY BOYS 
WHO HAVE WATCHED WITH LONGING EYES FOR 
THE RETURN OF THEIR FATHERS ACROSS THE WATERS 
OF THE WEST. »^, 



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Digging Through to Manila 




Digging Through to Manila 

^WO little boys with shovel and with spade 
Toiled eagerly beneath the maple's shade ; 
Between the leaves the bright sun glinted down; 
It tinged with light the clustering curls of brown, 
And warmed to vivid glow the golden hair 
That crowned one head with wealth of beauty rare. 
Bright eyes of blue, like summer skies above. 
Bent downward in their earnest quest of love; — 
Sweet eyes of brown, with laughing gleams of light. 
Aglow with life's fair springtime, warm and bright : — 
Blue eyes, — brown eyes, — I wonder what you see 
As swift hands toil beneath the maple tree. 



"Come in, my little ones!" the mother called, 
"What do you?" as she saw them thus enthralled. 
The little spade was emptied with due care, 
And then the boy with shining golden hair 
And azure eyes aglow with purpose high. 
With voice like bird-notes sweet thus made reply: 
"We're digging to Manila, Mother, dear; 
They say that it is straight down under here; 
And Papa's there and waiting for his boys; 
He says we are his only, teasing, precious joys. 
To far Manila we are digging through; 
Won't he be glad to see his noisy crew?" 



Dear little hands ! At work the whole day long, 
With hearts of love and faith so true and strong. — 
The summer day sinks slowly to sweet rest, 
The after-glow burns crimson in the west; 
Night's veil falls o'er the dim horizon line. 
And far above the first faint starlets shine ; 
And still the tireless hands work ever on 
Until the sun's last rosy gleam is gone. 
With folded hands and hearts aflame with zeal 
Upon the sward the faithful workers kneel: 
"Oh, God, we leave our Papa dear to you, 
Till to far-off Manila we dig through." 



Through coming years how many little hands 
Will strive to reach the sun-scorched island sands ; 
And sweet brown orbs and eyes of azure hue 
Will look in vain to see the waters blue 
That dash against Manila's arid shore, 
And break away in sad and solemn roar. 
The sun through parted leafage sifting down 
Will light gold hair and curls of softest brown 
Bent over spades that dig the long day through. 
While tender hearts, so loving and so true. 
Will rise above in rev'rent, trustful prayer 
^ That God will guard Papa "till we get there." 



Far-off in tropic jungle black and dense, 
With earnest face lit up by dark eyes tense 
With ardent courage, hope and love and faith, 
A man rides slowly through those shades of death. 
His guards surround them, but he heeds them not. 
His lonely heart is far from that dread spot; 
Beyond the darkness of that gloomy place 
He sees the light in each dear childish face; 
The noisy trampling of the horses' feet 
Is lost in faintest dream of music sweet ; 
Perchance he feels the echo of that prayer:— 
**God keep our dear Papa till we get there." 



As slowly rides he through the jungle dim, 

His heart afar beyond the island's rim, 

The horse's feet enmeshed in tangled grass, 

That winds about them subtly as they pass, 

Across the turgid air a bullet screams 

And wakes the horseman from his sun-bright dreams ; 

Against his cheek he feels its burning breath. 

His heart beats quickly at the sound of death. 

The flash gleams lurid on the dusky day. 

And still unscathed he rides along his way. 

The Father up above has heard that prayer: — 

"God keep our dear Papa till we get there !" 



And ever linger mem'ries of that day 
When to Manila the Sumner sailed away; 
Loved ones on deck, close clasped in sad embrace, 
In grimy dock eyes vainly seeking each dear face ; 
The jarring of the harsh, discordant bell 
That rang the signal for the last farewell; 
The whistle's scream, the rattling of the chain. 
The shudder of the ship in mortal pain. 
As if it knew the world of hopes and fears 
It bore away 'mid rain of falling tears, 
And felt the mighty pathos of that prayer : 
"God keep our loved ones in His gentle care !'* 



From shores of Dawn to far Pacific sands 
With tiny spades how many faithful hands 
Are digging all the livelong summer day, 
In hope to find dear Papa far away, 
While on that slope where soldiers lie at rest 
With still hands folded over quiet breast. 
Beneath the dark and solemn willow shades 
Are digging stronger hands with larger spades; 
And slowly o'er the ocean's seething foam 
The silent soldiers with still hearts come home. 
In Heaven waits sweet answer to that prayer: — 
"God keep our Papa dear till we get there." 



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